Alternate Reality
by Serena Kenobi
Summary: Christine's world is turned upside down when alternate versions of herself and Erik drop into her life. Can the alternate Christine convince her that she's making a mistake by choosing Raoul over Erik? EC, AU. 2004 moviebased.
1. Universes

**Alternate Reality**

**By Serena Kenobi**

**Summary: From the author who brought you 'The Parody of the Opera' comes a completely different Phanfic about two different couples. _Christine Daae believes she's making the right choice by marrying Raoul. But when another, alternate version of Christine, and Erik, the Phantom, drop into her world, can the other Christine convince this Christine that Raoul is the wrong choice? Completely AU. EC, of course. As if I'd right anything else. And frankly, anything else is pretty much blasphemy._**

**Disclaimer: Me not own Phantom. You not sue me. **

* * *

**  
_World One_**

**Paris, Apartment Suite, 1880**

Christine Daae stared out her window as the rain pattered against it ceaselessly. Usually she didn't care for rainy days, but there were times when she needed a break from the overbearing sun, and rainy days could be so relaxing. Plus, they were fun days to shop as well.

At age sixteen, she was young, but incredibly mature for her age. She was rational, calm, and also beautiful. Her silky brown locks fell in front of her porcelain face, and her black lashes framed deep brown eyes. She was a small, delicate thing, but also stubborn and headstrong. And she didn't care that was, either. Most men of that era didn't like their women so feisty, but she didn't care about that, either.

Besides, she already had a man. One who would do anything for her. One who loved her more than his own life.

And she loved him to death.

"Finding the rain interesting?"

Christine grinned at the sound of her love's deep, sensual voice and turned her head slightly as to look at him. "Actually, yes."

The young man of twenty-four smiled, and, pushing dark locks of hair out of his face, moved quietly but quickly towards her. He was tall, lanky, but well muscled, and the hair that so often fell in his half-masked face was long. Not too long, but just long enough to be pulled back in a short ponytail. He sat beside her on the window seat and rested an arm on the windowsill, glancing out at the rain with his haunting blue-green eyes. There was a comfortable moment of silence, and then he said quietly, "I can understand your desire to look at the rain. It's peaceful. Repetitive. Monotonous."

"Just like you," Christine teased, flashing him a wicked grin.

His eyes flew to hers, and they locked gazes. Slowly, he smiled. "Cheeky," he accused, but his eyes were full of mirth and adoration.

Christine's breath caught. That adoration was for her, and for her alone. No one would take her place. She reached out with a slender hand and grabbed his larger one. "I love you, you know."

The smile left his face, and his throat constricted. He sharply drew in a breath as she traced the outline of his mask and then rested it on his darker, unmasked cheek. His eyes darkened. "And I love you, my angel." He snatched her hand and pressed it tightly against his cheek. "You are my life, Christine Daae."

"As you are mine, Erik Destler," she announced.

He leaned over and kissed her tenderly.

Christine couldn't imagine a place she'd rather be. She had a home in an extravagant Parisian apartment, an apartment that was right across from her beloved's, and right now, she was in her love's arms.

She was safe, loved, and happy.

* * *

**_World Two_**

**Paris, De Chagny Mansion, 1880**

Christine Daae stared out her window as the rain pattered against it ceaselessly. As the wind grew and howled, and thunder began to flash, they reminded her of her own inner feelings, a storm, just like outside. A tempest of emotions that wouldn't - couldn't go away, no matter how much she wanted them to.

At age sixteen, she was young. Young, innocent, and as delicate and sensitive as a newly blossomed rose. Some may have called her immature and helpless, and sometimes she did feel just like a baby, but how was that her fault? All her life had been brought up in blissful ignorance. She had had no idea of the real world until she had turned fifteen and became part of the main chorus. Even then, she had been sheltered.

But then she had met him. Her so-called Angel of Music. Or more commonly known as the Phantom of the Opera. He was everything opposite to her. He was dark, passionate, and commanding. But he was also intimidating and someone to be feared. He frightened her with his unknown world, his locked away secrets and passions that he revealed only to her.

She had never met anyone like him before. And she was confused.

But he was also a murderer. Joseph Buquet, the stagehand, was dead because of him.

She didn't know what to think anymore.

"Finding the rain interesting?"

Christine turned to see her childhood sweetheart, the dear and loving Raoul, standing in the doorway, his gaze understanding and cheerful. He was the reminder of her father's house by the sea, the innocence she had forgotten only a week ago at the Opera Populaire.

She loved him, but she wasn't sure how much. Maybe she would learn to love him more, as time passed. "Oh, not really," she said shyly. "It's all too turbulent for me." She straightened. "Is there something you wanted?"

Raoul shook his head and moved to sit beside her. "No, darling. I just wondered how you were doing. You went through quite an ordeal back there."

She nodded. "I know. Thank you for letting me stay with you."

"Do you like the house?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yes! It's beautiful."

"Good," he smiled, obviously happy with her reply. "I only want your happiness, Christine. Anything you want, I'll give you. You need only ask."

Christine swallowed at his endearing, questioning gaze. "Just… hold me, Raoul." She leaned into his chest.

Raoul placed his arms around her. "Of course."

Deciding to forget the Phantom of the Opera and his horrible face and terrifying mannerisms for just a moment, Christine closed her eyes and held tighter to Raoul. She was safe now. Safe, and away from him. She was loved by a rich, handsome man, her own fairytale prince.

But she wasn't happy.

* * *

**Just for anyone who is confuzzled, World Two is the real movie version. World One is the alternate reality. Everything will be explained in further chapters, so keep reading!**

**Ta-ta,  
**

**-Serena Kenobi aka OG In Training**


	2. Stars

**Alternate Reality**

**By Serena Kenobi**

**Author's note: I just HAD to update this story quicker than my other ones - I'm so excited when I'm writing it! I hope you all enjoy it - and thanks for the reviews!**

**Disclaimer: Me no own Phantom. You no sue me.**

* * *

  
**_World One_**

"Erik?" Christine frowned as she found the parlor empty. So far, she hadn't been able to find him. And she had searched her entire apartment already. Hmm. She had checked the kitchen, living room, bedroom (though heaven knew why he would be in there), and sunroom… wait. She smacked her forehead, feeling utterly stupid. She threw open the door to her apartment and walked across the hall into Erik's. Passing through the hall and various rooms, she opened a normally locked door and raced up the flight of stairs she found there. Since both their apartments were on the top floor, they both had roof access. With the building owner's permission, Erik had built an entirely new room on the roof, complete with furnishings and a fireplace. It was almost completely open, though, and was wall to wall with large windows. Even a few skylights were hung in the ceiling.

But the room was for Erik and Erik alone. It was where he could write music, design buildings, and play his piano without anyone bothering him.

Well, except for Christine, of course. But even she knew when not to disturb him. However, now was not one of those times. She rushed up the last few steps and opened the door slowly, peering inside.

Erik was sitting with his back to her, his long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, his crisp white shirt was wrinkled and the sleeves rolled up, and he was hunched over, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. As expected, there were papers strewn around him, some piled up beside him on the desk and most of them lying on the floor. Some were crumpled up into balls. All had music notes on them.

And he was muttering to himself.

Christine giggled and put a hand over her mouth to silence herself. She couldn't help it. It was so much fun to hear him talk to himself. She grew silent as to better hear him.

"…Too much cello… no, that's not right… not enough flute… argh, no, that's not right, either!" Erik bent over his work and continued to write, seemingly growing annoyed.

Christine said quietly, "Erik."

He didn't hear her and continued writing, clearly lost in his own world.

"Erik." She raised her voice.

Still, he ignored her.

Christine shook her head and opened the door, entering the room, having enough of being quiet. The door slammed against the doorstop, and Erik glanced behind him.

"What?" His tone was snappish.

Christine knew he wasn't angry with her and didn't take it personally. Unfazed, she continued, "I just wanted to see what you were doing. I'll leave if you want."

He turned back to his work and sighed. "I'm working on a new piece for the London Symphony. But I just can't get it bloody right!"

Taking this as a sign to stay, she moved over and peeked over his shoulder. "Looks like a bunch of scribbles to me," she remarked.

He glared at her with his blue-green eyes. "Why are you still here?"

Smiling sweetly at him, she leaned down and slowly kissed him. "That's why," she said demurely after she pulled away slightly.

His breathing was harsh, and he swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. "Well, uh, I was just… uh, what was I saying?"

Her smile widened.

"Oh, forget it," he growled, and pulled her in hard for another more passionate kiss, this one leaving them both breathless.

After a few minutes, they both pulled back. Erik stared hard at her for a moment and then said in excitement, "That's it!" He then picked up his forgotten quill and scribbled some new notes on the paper before him. Christine watched him with fascination, smiling, and she then reached up and brushed a stray dark hair out of his face.

He smiled but didn't look up from his work.

Christine noticed it was growing dark and said, "I'd better go see what Felicitie's preparing for supper." She kissed him softly on his unmasked cheek and rose from her position on the bench beside him. She squeezed his muscular shoulder and said, "Will you be joining me?"

"Maybe," was his short reply. "I don't know. I still have some work to finish."

She nodded in understanding. "Well, just join me if you can." She patted his shoulder and turned, shutting the door behind her.

Erik glanced behind him once, smiled slightly, and then returned to his work.

* * *

Christine sat at the small table in her apartment eating dinner. She hadn't expected Erik to come down – sometimes he stayed up in his room for hours at a time – but it felt lonely all the same. "And just think," she said aloud, sarcastic, "I could've been dining in a grand room crowded with servants and decorated with the finest things money could buy." She shuddered visibly at that thought. _But then I would've had to marry Raoul. No thank you._ She glared at her plate, suddenly feeling a rush of anger and bitterness at her old playmate that had unexpectedly come back into her life six months ago. Raoul and pleasant memories didn't go hand in hand anymore.

"If you continue to stare at the plate that way, I'm sure it will break into broken-hearted pieces any minute now," Erik said, leaning against the door-jam. His hair, no longer in a ponytail, hung down in a black sheen a little below his shoulders.

Christine looked up, startled. "Erik," she beamed. "I didn't think you'd come down."

He shrugged noncommittally and slowly made his way into the room. "I imagined you wouldn't want to be down here alone."

"You imagined right," she grinned. "Why don't you sit down?"

Erik shook his head. "No, I have something to show you. But I'll wait until you finish your dinner." He folded his arms across his chest and smirked in self-appreciation.

Christine shot him a glare and stood up quickly. "Erik Destler, you will show me this instant!" She demanded.

He grinned and bowed low. "As my diva commands," he said playfully, holding out his arm.

"Yes, I do," she returned, smiling, and took his arm and allowed him to lead her out of her apartment and up to the same room of which he had just come. But instead of staying there, he turned to the right and opened the door that led out onto the roof.

Christine inhaled sharply as she beheld the entire scene of Paris around her and the dazzling stars above. Erik smiled and took a few steps further, then motioned with a hand to the heavens above.

"I thought we could look at the stars tonight," he said, eyes shining in the moonlight.

Christine's awestruck gaze turned from the scenery to him, and she smiled, her doe brown eyes filled with love. "Oh, Erik, it's beautiful," she said softly. "Thank you."

"Come," he said, gazing at her, "I prepared a blanket for us to sit on." He nodded to the thick, large blanket that lay in the middle of the roof.

Christine resisted letting out a delighted squeal, but she rushed forward and flung herself down upon the feather-down comforter, stretched out her thin arms and dropped them back onto the blanket, outspread widely.

Erik smiled at her display of happiness and joined her, less enthusiastic, gracefully lowering to his feet and sitting beside her.

"Come on, Erik, lie down," Christine insisted, "you can see the stars better this way." Her smile seemed to light up the darkness that surrounded them, and he could do nothing else but obey her, his dark hair splaying out on the blanket, his unmasked cheek facing her. He then placed his hands behind his head and stared up into the star-studded sky, for once in his life content.

Christine stared at him for a moment in quiet consideration then returned her gaze to the night above. They were both silent for a moment.

"Look," Erik said quietly, nodding his head towards the sky. "There's the belt of Orion."

Christine frowned. "Where?" She didn't know why she was using hushed tones, but it seemed more appropriate for the moment.

A strong arm reaching up, Erik pointed to a collection of stars. "There," he said. "Three stars for the belt, then others for the body and weapon. Orion was a hunter in Greek mythology that supposedly was so great a hunter that he caught the eye of the goddess Artemis. But her brother Apollo grew jealous and sent a scorpion to sting him on the shoulder. But Artemis put his constellation as a tribute to him."

Christine scooted closer and laid her head on his shoulder. To be more comfortable, he rested his free arm behind her head. She sighed happily. "You know so much about so many things," she said softly, beginning to grow drowsy.

Erik smiled. "And there's the scorpion that stung Orion," he continued, his deep voice soothing and calm. "And there's Pegasus, the winged horse of Bellephron."

Christine could barely keep her eyes open, and his voice was unknowingly lulling her to sleep. "Mmm-hmm," she murmured.

Erik glanced down at her and kissed her forehead. "I love you," he whispered.

Christine smiled in her sleep and subconsciously wrapped her fingers around his shirt, curling up closer to him.

* * *

**_World Two_**

"Darling! Christine!"

Christine looked up from her book to see Raoul rushing into the room. "What is it, Raoul?" She asked. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head, his golden hair curling around his shoulders. "No, dear, but I've got some fantastic news! I've – we've- been invited to the Leraunt's house for dinner. They want to meet you!"

Christine tried to look and sound pleased, but she wasn't. For the past few weeks, Raoul had been dragging her around to all different parties and social events around the upper class homes of Paris – and frankly, Christine was growing tired of them. "Oh, that's… that's wonderful," she said in a falsely happy tone. "But Raoul, we've been going out every single night… can't we just stay here and relax?"

"Christine," Raoul frowned, "It's best for you to be introduced to as many… higher level people as you can. You didn't exactly grow up in the best of company in the Opera House."

Christine glared at him. "What are you implying?" She said edgily.

Raoul looked at her with a slightly disdainful look. "All I'm saying, my dear, is that you haven't had the chance or the benefit of being introduced into high society. Now is your chance to make a good impression on them. Besides, if you're going to be my wife, then you must learn to socialize with fine and proper company, not ballet rats and chorus girls."

Christine's eyes flashed in anger. "You know what, Raoul?" She said, her tone dangerously low, "I'm feeling rather tired. I think I shall rest tonight. Go on without me." She stood up and started for the door.

A hand on her arm stopped her, and she looked at Raoul, whose face was inscrutable. "Christine, you will come with me." His face then changed to a pleading expression. "Please. I'm doing this for you."

Christine's hardened heart began to melt as she remembered the good times she used to have with her old playmate. "Of course, Raoul, I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'll come with you. Just give me a minute to rest."

His face lit up, and he nodded. "Certainly!" He kissed her quickly and left the room.

Christine sunk into a chair, her head in her hands. Was this what she wanted? Or was she just fooling herself?

* * *

Christine sipped her wine glass, completely bored. She was standing in a circle of ladies who were doing nothing but gossiping about facts and people she knew nothing about. Why had she convinced Raoul to bring her along?

"Miss Daae," a voice broke her train of thought, and she turned to look at a finely dressed lady somewhat older than her.

"Beg your pardon?" Christine said politely.

The woman looked miffed. "I was just saying that I thought your dress was lovely."

"Oh!" Christine blushed, embarrassed. "Thank you."

"Aren't you the singer?" A younger woman whose name Christine couldn't remember said, somewhat harshly.

Christine nodded timidly. "Yes, I am."

"The one who was kidnapped by the Opera Ghost? Or was it all just a set-up for fame?" The girl continued rudely. "I bet the so-called Opera Ghost doesn't even exist. It's just a fairy tale invented by stupid ballet rats, and then escalated when you pretended to be kidnapped by him."

Christine's eyes widened. "What?" She gasped.

The other ladies present were somewhat sympathetic.

"Suzanne, really!" The lady who had first spoken to her said, sounding horrified.

Suzanne glared at Christine. "Well, that's what it looks like. I bet you only did it to get the attention of the Vicompte. You're only after his money, aren't you?" She sneered.

"It's not like that!" Christine exclaimed. "Raoul and I have been friends since childhood – I didn't ask to be the lead in 'Hannibal' either!"

"Suzanne, that's quite enough!" Another woman, middle-aged, said. Her name was Lady D'Artagne.

"It's probably true," Suzanne snapped. "She can deny it all she wants, but look at her! She's no better than a common beggar!"

The other women looked away, and Christine grew red, knowing that it was true and knowing that the other women thought the same thing as well but didn't want to tell it to her face. Seeing no other alternative, Christine turned on her heel and strode away from the group.

"Darling!" Raoul hurried up to her. "Where are you going?" He seemed to be oblivious to the fact that she seemed ready to cry. "The party's not over yet!"

"I don't like this party," Christine said through clenched teeth. "I want to go home."

"Just one dance," Raoul persuaded, "then we can leave."

Christine looked at the musicians ready to play and the dance floor, then back to Raoul. "Fine, one dance," she acquiesced.

Raoul beamed and kissed her cheek. "Wonderful! I'll be back shortly. I already promised Miss Veron that I'd dance with her for the first two." He gallantly walked up to Suzanne, who shot Christine a nasty look, and bowed, taking her hand. Suzanne giggled coquettishly and blushed prettily, her dainty blonde curls bouncing around her porcelain face.

Christine balled her hands and rushed out the door and into the garden, unable to stand the sight of either of them anymore. It was the middle of winter, but she didn't mind the cold. Not now, anyway. It had been much too hot inside, and much too stuffy. She needed air.

Christine began to stroll throughout the gravel pathways and finally into a stone patio decorated with a table and chairs. Sighing, she sat down in one chair and looked down at her fancy dress. She picked at it for a moment before looking up and gazing at the night sky. Her mouth fell open in awe and wonderment as she stared in fascination at the billions of stars lining the dark sky. She wondered what were the names of the constellations. She wondered if she would ever know which one was the Great Bear. Which one was Orion, the Hunter. But no one had ever shown her.

Her thoughts then began to skirt back to her time at the Opera House. It had been almost three months since she had been there, and all the time she was wishing to go back. Yes, Raoul had been nothing but the kindest of men, and she had accepted his proposal, but every day she had spent in Raoul's house, she had felt something lacking. Something that couldn't be replaced in a large, grand home and fine dresses and furniture.

She wouldn't admit it to herself, but she had been happier at the Opera House. Back when she had been a simple dancer, singer. One of the troupe of ballet rats. Back when she had been with _him. _

Christine shook her head and stiffened at those traitorous thoughts. She would not think of him! He had betrayed her! Lied to her! He was no angel. He was a monster. A demon. A murderer.

And yet… he loved her. The Creature of the darkness, Phantom of the shadows, King to his underground domain was in love with her. In love with her! And she, a mere chorus girl, had benefited and grown into the lead role because of him. Everything he did, he had done for her. He was all passion, fury, darkness, and beauty – when it came to singing, that is.

She wasn't sure she understood him or why he did what he did, such as murder, but she knew that she would see him again. It was inevitable. Their paths would cross, one way or another, but was she prepared to face him? Probably not.

Christine slid back in her seat and continued to study the sky, wishing that she could join the stars up in the heavens.

* * *

**The merging of the two universes will soon be coming up - probably next chapter! So stay tuned! **

**All Phantom EC shippers unite!**

**-Serena Kenobi**


	3. Realities

Alternate Reality

By Serena Kenobi

Author's note: I can't tell you how much fun I am having writing this fic. The possibilities are endless! I feel so free!!! (crickets chirp) Forget it. Anyhoo, I'm SURE a lot of people are mad that Christine (the normal one) is a scared little mouse with no spunk or boldness whatsoever. I'm happy to have my alternate Christine kick her butt and smack her around until she realizes that Raoul's not the happy-go-lucky Prince Foppishness she thinks he is.

Now, some of you may be confused at what the Alternate Christine is talking about when she mentions Raoul and a man named Pierre (which will probably be in the next chapter). I'm probably going to write a prequel to this story - one where it's only in the Alternate Universe - which will completely explain everything. But don't worry. I'll explain what happened to the Alternate Christine and Erik in this story, too. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned PoTO... Raoul would be hanging from his toes while listening Erik sing "Music of the Night" to Christine.

* * *

World One

Christine sat in the parlor, reading. Her eyes focused on the content in front of her, she didn't hear the slam of doors and the pounding of footsteps approaching fast.

"Christine!"

Christine's head shot up, and she looked at Erik, whose hair was falling in front of his face, as it was not pulled back. It hung long and black, but was flying around somewhat as he strode towards her. "What is it, Erik?" She asked, concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no! Not at all!" He seemed so excited that Christine had to smile.

"What, then?"

"Look!" He handed her the morning's paper, and she turned it over. Her eyes widened.

"But… this is…"

"You." Erik grinned widely. "Christine, you're now famous throughout Europe. People are going to flock from every country just to hear your voice. I knew you could do this."

Christine beamed and leaped up, flying into his arms, laughing with joy. "Oh, Erik, this is amazing! It's my dream come true!"

He laughed with her. "I thought that was me?" He said skeptically, but couldn't keep the mischievous gleam out of his eyes.

Christine grinned. "No. I changed my mind."

"We'll see about that," Erik growled, and pulled her close for a kiss. After a few blissful moments, they regrettably pulled apart. "I should let you get some rest – tonight we have the dinner with the Opera House managers."

Christine groaned. "Oh joy." She slipped back onto the chaise. "Yes, well, you're right." She laid her head back on the pillow and stared up at him. "See you tonight?"

He kissed her hand slowly, his gaze smoldering. "Of course."

Christine watched, smiling dreamily, as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. Closing her eyes, she fell right asleep.

* * *

"_Erik! ERIK!" Christine screamed. It was dark, and the moon was shining down on the grassy plains. A patch of fog rolled ahead of her, and she raced frantically through it, hardly knowing where she was going. "ERIK! Where are you?"_

"_Christine!"_

_She turned around to see a magnificent black stallion charging towards her, and she covered her mouth to keep from crying out. But as a hand shot out and grabbed her, lifting her onto the horse, she saw the flash of white and knew it was Erik. "Erik, what's happening?" She gasped, holding his waist tightly as they galloped through the Parisian countryside. "Where's Raoul? And Pierre? Are they…"_

"_Dead?" Erik shook his head. "I'm afraid not." _

"_They're still after us?" Christine whispered. _

"_Yes. But I'm going after them now. I've just located their position – Christine, I can' t risk taking you back to the Opera House, you'll have to stay at my home."_

"_Erik, it's my home now, too."_

_Erik glanced back at her as if he didn't believe she had just said that. "Do you mean that?" He gasped. _

_Christine stared at him, his mask gleaming in the moonlight. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it, Erik." She suddenly looked past him, and her eyes widened. "Erik, look out!" She screamed. _

_And then everything went black. _

Christine bolted upright, gasping for breath, her chest heaving. She closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. After a few moments, she sighed and opened her eyes –

And gasped.

* * *

World Two

Christine had been asleep, dreaming of herself riding on a black horse with a masked young man – but he had looked just like… _him._Only younger… it was all so strange! She slipped out of bed and wrapped a shawl around herself and gazed out her window at the fog rolling past the full moon.

An owl hooted, and Christine shivered. Something wasn't right.

* * *

"What? Where am I? What's going on?" Christine hopped out of bed. "I'm in the… dormitories? But… why?" Although it seemed to be the ballet dormitories of the Opera House, some things looked different. Unfamiliar. The whole aura of the Opera House seemed somehow changed. Christine stared out the window and looked at the glimmering moon, staring back at her. She looked away, and started as she beheld many other ballerinas, all fast asleep. Creeping between their beds, she slinked out of the room and headed for the stage. She moved quickly and quietly down the somewhat unfamiliar passageways of the Opera House, and frowned. _What is going on? It is the Opera Populaire… but not the one I remember._

Determined to figure out what was going on, she hurried down a flight of stairs and tiptoed out onto the stage. Everything was extremely dark, save a few candles.

Christine looked around, up at the catwalks, and then to Box Five. Empty. Now she was really scared.

"Well, well, well, what 'ave we 'ere? Wanderin' 'round at night, are we?" The large, grimy body of Felix Jacques, one of the stagehands, came out from the shadows.

Christine had long dealt with men such as this and stiffened, her small fists curling. "It's not as if it's any of _your_business if I am," she snapped.

Felix snarled. "Well, well, well, aren't we feisty?" He bared his teeth and moved toward her. "Unusual for the little meek thing that you are."

"I am not meek," Christine hissed venomously. "Or do you not know what I am capable of? I trained under one of the best fighters perhaps in all of France. I've killed men twice your size before in seconds. I know how to take care of myself. I would stay back if I were you."

Felix said, "I 'ave no idea what you are talkin' about." His eyes glittered. "Wonder what the Phantom did to you down in that cellar of his."

"Phantom?" Christine echoed, bewildered.

"Why yes. Or have you forgotten?" He mocked her. "Must've hit pretty close to the mark." He began to circle her.

Christine's eyes narrowed. "Don't you know who I am?" She spat.

"Yeah. A little girl pretending to be a diva?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

He shook his head. "No, I don't. Enlighten me." He drew close, and she lashed out with a fist, sending his head and body flying backwards. He stumbled, swearing loudly.

"You little rat!"

Christine grinned. "I warned you." She froze when a gun barrel appeared before her.

Felix laughed. "I warned you," he mocked.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me," Felix smirked.

Christine weighed her choices. It wasn't as if she hadn't been in this situation before, because she had, many times. But now was not the time to send the man into the hospital because of her. So she did the only thing she could do. She lashed out at the gun with the speed of lightning and then turned and fled down the dark corridor.

Felix swore again and raced after her. "You won't get away that easily, you little diva!" He shouted.

Christine raced up the steps, sometimes three at a time, to the catwalks, and ran across one, not even bothering to think about where she was going. She just needed to get away, fast. And why was the Populaire so different? Everything was turned around… but she didn't have time to stop and smell the roses. Felix was surprisingly agile and was keeping up with her.

"Come 'ere, you little wench!"

Christine glanced over her shoulder and noticed to her great concern that he was gaining on her at an alarming rate. She picked up her pace, rushed down a small corridor, and on impulse flung open a door to her right, closed it behind her, and frantically looked around for a place to hide. It was hard to see when there was only darkness, but Felix was holding a torch, and that light was getting closer, allowing a crack of light under the door.

_Of all the- _

Her thoughts were cut off as a gloved hand reached for hers and yanked her sharply back into the darkness. She opened her mouth, but another hand promptly covered it. The hands pulled her further, and she found herself in a dark closet, the door shut in front of them. Christine now stood perfectly still, her mind jumbled. She _knew_these hands… she knew that familiar smell… she knew that heartbeat as if it were her very own…

She brought her hands up and placed them over the gloved hand that was currently resting lightly against her waist, and she squeezed the hand gently, assuring him that she knew she was safe with him. She heard a sharp, almost agonized gasp near her ear, and she smothered a grin, knowing the effect she had on him.

As Felix roamed all the nearby rooms, she could see the torch slowly moving away, the light diminishing as he apparently forgot to check the room she was in.

But then, the gloved hand that went over her mouth dropped, and the other hand around her waist tugged gently, and she felt herself being led… out of the other end of the closet… and into a dark corridor.

Christine held onto her love's hand, confused at his silence, but didn't say anything until they came to a corridor that was lit with torches. Now, she could see his face, and…

"Erik!" She gasped, stunned.

Erik – if it _was_ Erik – whirled on her, his face half enraged, half astonished. But how could it be Erik? He looked… well… older. And his hair was shorter. And his eyes! They were filled with pain, anger, and frustration. "How did you know that name?" He rasped.

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

* * *

The first thing Erik Destler realized was that he was no longer in his comfortable apartment. The second thing he realized was that he was lying on the ground in the cold. _What happened? _He wondered, and rose to his feet, running a hand through his hair. Looking around him, he guessed that he was in the countryside of Paris. But that didn't make any sense. How had he gone from the apartment to _here?_ Had he been kidnapped? But that also didn't make any sense. He didn't have any wounds. He didn't remember being knocked out.

Plus, he was just too smart to have been knocked out in the first place.

Erik sighed and decided to head back for Paris and try to find Christine and ask her what was going on. He rubbed his arms and began to walk. It seemed to be around midnight, but he didn't mind the dark. The moon was shining brightly down upon him, guiding his way back to the city of lights. Besides, the darkness was peaceful.

About twenty minutes later, however, he stopped dead still.

There, about a hundred yards ahead of him, was the mansion of Raoul De Chagny.

But wait – wasn't that supposed to have burned down? Wasn't the fop supposed to be dead?

Erik glared at the imposing place and decided to find out who rebuilt the House of Terror. Leaping over the steel gateway and slipping up to the manor, he crept alongside the house, looking for an easy way in. Glancing upwards, he saw that there was a balcony on the second floor. Erik stiffened. That had been Christine's room, when Raoul and the madman Pierre Lerousse had captured her and kept her prisoner. That would be the easiest way to get in, he decided, and with ease, climbed up to the balcony, hopped over the stone railing, and inspected the doors that led to Christine's bedroom.

He halted, and his eyes widened as he saw a familiar head of brown curls framing a beautiful, pale face in the bed. _Christine!_What was she doing here? Did Raoul's brother capture her? Was she in danger? But then why didn't she just escape? He checked the balcony handle, but it was unlocked. He frowned and opened the door quietly, leaving it open behind him as he slipped into the luxurious room. Moving over to the bed, he observed Christine as she slept, her chest gently rising and falling, her eyes closed. She looked innocently beautiful, and his heart clenched.

He only frowned when he noticed that her hair was in very tight curly ringlets – Christine's had always been in larger waves. Finally, irritated with all the questions in his head, he leaned forward and touched her shoulder, whispering, "Christine! Christine, wake up."

Christine moaned, moved her head, and slowly opened her eyes –

And then she jolted backwards further into the bed, and her mouth opened to scream.

Erik barely had time to muffle her cry with a hand, and he stared at her as she trembled, her eyes filled with fear. "Christine!" He hissed. "What's the matter?"

She only eyed him with terror.

Erik knew then that something was terribly wrong. "If I lift my hand, will you promise not to scream? I only want to talk," he said, bewildered.

She slowly nodded, but he got the feeling that she would scream. However, he lifted his hand, keeping it hovered a few inches from her face lest she should change her mind and cry out.

Her mouth began to move, and to his confusion, she gasped one word.

"Phantom!"

* * *

He he he... man, this fic is FUN to write.

I hope it's just as much to read it, too. Let me know!

Oh, and from now on, the fic will be in World Two, more accurately named as the Original Movie Universe. Basically, it's not the AU world. It's the... original world. I think you get it.

- Serena Kenobi


	4. Persons

**Alternate Reality**

**By Serena Kenobi**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Appreciate it!**

**Disclaimer: I'm too tired right now to say that I don't own Phantom of the Opera... **

* * *

**_World Two - Opera Populaire _**

"How did you know that name?" The Phantom snarled, moving closer.

Christine didn't move away, and frowned in confusion. "Wait – what are you talking about, Erik? I know your name because _you_told me! Ages ago! And what happened to your hair? Did you get it cut?" On impulse, she moved her free hand forward and ran a hand through his dark hair. His lips parted as he gaped at her.

"Christine… what are you… why…" his eyes suddenly changed. "No, you little traitor! You lying Pandora!"

She blinked. "Pardon?"

"You think you can come back here after you pledged yourself to that _boy_! No!" He snarled, turning around and yanking her hand to follow him. "I will not be so easily swayed again!"

"What?" Christine asked, now very puzzled. "Erik, I don't know what you're talking about! What boy?"

He turned on her viciously. "You know very well, Christine," he hissed. "Or was it some other fop I saw you kissing on the roof that night of _Il Muto_?" When she only stared at him, he continued, "No! I am right. You do not deny it. You were with De Chagny! You accepted his proposal! You betrayed me!"

Christine paled at the mention of Raoul, but he mistook that for fear of himself.

"You didn't think I would find out, did you?" He mocked. "But you forget – I am everywhere, Christine. I am the Phantom!"

"Erik!" She suddenly shouted, glaring at him. He paused. "Listen to me, I have _no_idea of what you are talking – I didn't become engaged to _Raoul. Why_ on earth would you think that I'm engaged to Raoul? I'm in love with _you!_"

He took a step back, clearly in shock. "Christine… don't… don't do this to me…" he stammered. "You don't know… you don't know how much I've… _longed_to hear you speak those words… but…"

Christine took a step closer to him, her face softening. "Erik, I don't know why you think I was engaged to Raoul after he tried to kidnap me and even _kill _me, but-"

"What?" Erik gasped.

Christine's eyes narrowed. "Erik, how old are you?"

His eyebrows rose. "Why?"

Christine rubbed her temples. "I don't think something is right. One moment I was taking a nap in my apartment in Paris, right after you came in and told me that was internationally famous as a singer, but then I woke up and I found myself in the Opera House."

"Apartment?" Erik said blankly.

"Yes, apartment. Don't you see? I don't think… maybe somehow I was transported by otherworldly means into this universe, one where you're older and I'm engaged to Raoul." She made a face. "But why _Raoul?_" She looked at him. "So, how old are you?"

"I think around thirty-five."

Christine sighed and rubbed her aching neck. "Yes, it's as I thought. My Erik was twenty-four."

"Twenty-four!"

"Yes, and his hair was longer. And he was a famous composer and conductor, and a singer and an architect, known throughout the world. And he was my... love." She looked down.

Erik was silent for a moment. "I believe we should try to get this figured out," he eventually said. "Come with me to my home, and we'll talk." He held out his hand.

Christine smiled, then reached up and kissed his cheek. "I don't know what's wrong with this Christine, but you don't seem to have changed much," she said warmly.

Erik stared at her as if she had just told him that he could sprout wings and fly, but he recovered and led her down the tunnel.

* * *

_**De Chagny Mansion**_

"Excuse me?" Erik said, bewildered.

Christine paled more and scooted back as to avoid him. "Are… are you here to kill me?" She whispered.

"Kill you? Why would I want to kill you?" He blinked. "And why are you at De Chagny's house?"

Christine, if possible, paled more. "Don't – don't kill him," she begged, tears streaming down his face. "It wasn't his fault, please don't kill him!"

Erik frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "I… look, Christine. What's the last thing you remember before you were here?"

"I was with Raoul's brother," Christine said meekly. "We had dinner… to talk about…" she bit her lip and looked down. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Erik said, seating himself on the edge of the bed. "Christine, I don't know what you're so upset about, but the last time I looked, Phillipe De Chagny was dead."

She gasped. "You killed him!" She choked.

His eyes narrowed. "No," he answered slowly, "his brother did."

"What?"

"De Chagny," he spat the name out, "killed his older brother and made it look as if it had been a suicide to inherit Phillipe's money and title. Chagny needed the funds to continue his ruthless hunt for us, and to pay Pierre back for all of his debts. Don't you remember?"

She shook her head. "No. You're insane."

He glared at her. "Thank you." He rose to his feet and paced for a moment. "Christine," he said. "Do you have an apartment in Paris?"

She shook her head again. "No."

"Perfect," he muttered, and sighed. "Christine, I don't know what is happening, but the last thing I remember I was in my study writing my next opera, you were in your apartment next to mine, taking a nap, and then suddenly I woke up on the ground a few miles from Paris. Does that make any sense?"

Again, she shook her head.

"I agree," Erik said dryly. "Something's happened – either to me or to you – and I intend to get to the bottom of it. I'm going to the Opera Populaire and see if anything else has changed. I'd prefer it if you came with me, but…" he looked at her helplessly. "You seem to be afraid of me. Why?" He asked gently.

"You… you killed someone," she stammered. "You killed him in cold blood."

"Killed who?"

"The stagehand, Joseph Buquet."

"I thought you killed him," Erik said, confused.

She stared, wide-eyed. "Me? K-kill… Buquet?"

Erik nodded. "I distinctly remember him trying to shoot you and you shooting him instead. It wasn't like you had a choice – it wasn't your fault he was in league with Dante." He spat the name out like a rotten apple.

"Who's Dante?" She asked, seemingly growing a little less afraid of him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Pierre Dante? The man who kidnapped you and almost killed you? The man who allied himself with De Chagny? The man we were fighting for almost a year? How could you not remember?" He asked bitterly.

"I – I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered. "I've never heard of him."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "Something is not right. Did I ever train you in the art of fencing and self defense?"

She shook her head. "No…"

"Damn." He rose to his feet again. "I must leave."

"Are… are you taking me?" She asked fearfully.

He looked at her for a moment. "Not if you don't want me to," he finally answered quietly, albeit somewhat sadly. "You're a grown woman, Christine. The Christine I knew was a bold, headstrong and determined young woman who wasn't afraid of anything. I don't know what's happened, but I miss my Christine." He looked down. "It's your choice. I'm leaving." He turned to go.

"Wait," she said softly.

He didn't look back but halted.

"I'm… I'm not coming with you," she said hesitantly, "but I'll be at the Opera Populaire tomorrow."

His despair was quickly growing. "It's your life, Christine," he stated, and slipped out the door.

Christine stared out onto the balcony long after he was gone, her thoughts muddled and her emotions frazzled. Whoever that may have been, he was not the same Phantom of the Opera whom she had met before. And he was younger… and had longer hair. And why on earth had he thought she had actually _killed two people? _It didn't make sense.

She resolved to find out more about the strange situation tomorrow. But she needed to talk to Raoul first.

_NO! Don't tell him!_ A rebellious part of her mind said. _What he doesn't know won't hurt him. _

_But I have to tell him! _She insisted. _He's my fiancé!_

_Don't be an idiot, girl. You know very well that the Phantom doesn't like you betraying him. _She shuddered. _Just go and don't tell him what you're doing. _

Feeling torn, she lay back down. But she did not go back to sleep.

* * *

**The plot thickens! Now we learn a little more of the alternate Christine and Erik's past, and how they dealt with Raoul. The Alternate Christine, as you have just learned, has been trained by Erik in the art of self defense and can kick some serious butt. I'll explain their whole past in future chapters, but I'm still thinking of writing a prequel. **

**Hope you liked!**

** - Serena  
**


End file.
